Sakura With You
by EKeys
Summary: AU. In a world where ninjas aren't supposed to exist, a young man named Uchiha Sasuke is finding it all too easy to love the one girl who was never meant to be part of his life.


SAKURA WITH YOU

In a world where ninjas aren't supposed to exist, a young man named Uchiha Sasuke is finding it all too easy  
to love the one girl who was never meant to be part of his life.

July 23—

Bunkyou, one of the many special wards of Tokyo, laid quiet in the late evening. Over the city incandescent light broke upon skyscraper horizons and dribbled red yolk through rivers of steel. It was the usual end to Tokyo University's Hongo division. Students were beginning to return home. From library aisles and summer classrooms they dispersed with little acknowledge to each other, trudging across the school grounds in tired silence, lining city trains with foreheads weighed low.

On a crowded sidewalk a man named Aburame Shino stayed behind. He stopped, eyes raising to intently study the metal framework cast into silhouette with halo silver edges. Dark glasses shielding his eyes against the strike of illumination, he could admire the background of pink sky. It reminded him of his classmate, his closest friend, Sakura.

But Shino didn't know that evening, or many evenings thereafter, that Sakura was gone.

—

Breaking from dense wood, an open meadow hill sloped a hundred yards below to an old wall and arid road no more than ten feet wide, choked with pale clay and dandelion weeds. Cart tracks laid shallow lines through the lane but, with only an hour left until dusk, nothing but bunting and lark songs passed two women. There, Tsunade watched her student run along the wall. Its aged partition barely kept hillside soil from sliding into the road. "It's growing dark, Sakura," she warned.

"I won't fall." The balls of bare feet wedged deep between smooth stones and eyes surveyed the eastern meadow. Rabbit holes and dry patches of earth dotted the field, and a brave, handsome hare reared with ears erect and nose in red sunset. It startled at the clop of Tsunade's wooden geta catching on stones and Sakura lost sight of it amidst hamanasu bramble.

"I'm letting you wear what you want. You could stay clean, at least." Her teacher's summer yukata of petal-pink diamonds was an aesthetic directly conflicted by Sakura's dingy shorts and tank-top. "Sakura," Tsunade growled another warning. "This should interest you," her mentor pressed. "Uchiha Itachi was quite gracious inviting you to tonight's celebration. You should arrive respectfully."

The girl trotted ahead, laughing in short barks and waving away Tsunade's words. In her left hand, shoelaces kept two old sneakers bumping against her shins. "Shishou, I'm thankful for his offer. You know that. But this is my one weekend of vacation, my only chance to leave the library and clinic, and I'd like to enjoy myself."

Tsunade pretended she didn't hear. "If you look nice, Sasuke might like you. And if you were to like him," she goaded, "you could be very well off. He's the sole benefactor of the estate, you know. You could easily start a family."

Sakura cringed and shouted back the many ways she didn't care. Since leaving Bunkyou days ago, she'd been victim to her mentor's lines despite all insistence otherwise; Sakura wanted to relax, relish a bit of liberty, and verbal argument was to no avail for either party's behalf. Thus, she freely navigated the broken and crumbling wall against her teacher's warnings to prove her point.

"What if I told you he's handsome?" Tsunade hollered.

"You said you last saw him as a kid!" Sakura cried back.

Persistence wasn't the right mindset. No matter Tsunade's best intentions, Sakura didn't want a matchmaker. Childhood years spent toiling under public disregard left her with a stubbornness to care little for others. Being friends with someone, after all, only led to bothersome expectations. Being 'more than friends' with someone was like a prison sentence. Tsunade tried to improve Sakura's behavior, cure her anthropomorphic tendencies, but the girl insisted on operating outside of social dependencies. Hers was selfish solitude. Sakura enjoyed living on her own— or as alone as her mind allowed.

Jumping from the wall, Sakura stumbled her landing and kicked up plumes of dust to layer her bare legs. She slid on her sneakers as Tsunade closed the distance between them with a growing frown and angry stomps, but Sakura maintained a deceptively innocent smile.

"Well, I'm led to believe he's handsome," Tsunade continued, grumbling, as she led Sakura along the dilapidated wall even as it abandoned its roadside vigil and inexplicably veered into quiet woodlands. Her exhausted pitches puttered like a bad engine at this point, "And did I tell you he's inheriting his family estate?"

"Yes," Sakura allowed an invective tone to her voice, "about twenty times now."

Passing the first treeline, the babble of their argument struggled to persist. Sakura didn't mind; the forest was rich, strongly scented with some familiar deepness that settled within her core. Her palm fell against the eastern wall, half-minding its intensifying height and pallor the hours they traveled north. She breathed without ache, through underbrush and umbrage, her concentration riveted upon the humid wood's pitched shadows, the cries of fowl, and believed herself the tepid night lingered longest beside her. She admired the sky above. A waxing moon dozed quietly between branches interlaced like lattice.

"What is it?" Tsunade asked as Sakura paused to gaze. "Sakura, we're already late."

"There's no need to make it to tonight's party. I already told you. I'm not showing up to talk with some brat with lots of land and money." She grimaced at the very thought, looking as if she'd taken a spoon of dry cinnamon. "Okay?"

For a long moment neither moved. Tsunade weighed the argument, losing hope. She bit her lip, moved hands to her hips, and finally snapped, "For your sake, Sakura, I hope you find something you like."

Saying no more, Tsunade marched on and Sakura was bound to follow. They walked without fatigue, and the wall beside them eventually ended its steady incline, halting its great expanse upon a crest that rivaled treetops. A simple bamboo threshold led deeper, which Tsunade stepped through. She strolled on, hardly pausing. But within thickened moonlight Sakura stood seeing some trick, some truth. Night wind stole bird call away from this place and beside Tsunade there was not a noise.

Sakura's eyes drew to a phantasmal seal, a fan of red and white. It was unidentifiable, mute and unmoving, yet overflowed her subconscious with the greatest anxiety. The voice inside of her was saying something—

—

The summer night held a certain humidity, a happy warmth that stilled the breeze and allowed the lush scent of grass to hover. Cicadas rumbled in the blades as fireflies and moths mingled above through a cross-stitch of hanging lamps. All the while, jeers of congratulations paraded through festive, motionless banners, demanding to know the wedding date. Sasuke ignored them, seeing nothing beyond his desire to sit and spend time with himself.

"Now, Sasuke-kun," Kakashi's hand clapped onto the morose teenager's shoulders, "tell the good people: one year from today when you turn twenty and become the new Uchiha patron! You know, I hope you name your first son after me— oof!" He doubled over as Sasuke pitched an elbow into his side.

"Was it something I said?" Kakashi wheezed to Itachi. Although his younger brother stomped away, clearly furious, Itachi remained with a gentle smile. Kakashi straightened to his usual slouch and let the happy crinkle of his eye reveal his sincerity for Sasuke's circumstance. "Yare, yare... You know, I don't think it's such a terrible thing. Sasuke wasn't exactly getting along with anyone."

"No, he wasn't," Itachi agreed. "And I'm glad to provide him a bit of choice in the matter."

"Where are the others, anyway?" Kakashi glanced about. Though bowed at the spine, his height still allowed him leverage over most party-goers.

"Only Karin has arrived."

"Oh," he stiffened. "Have you, um, explained everything?"

Itachi's smile was ever peaceful. "I believe you were supposed to do the explaining."

"Yeah, about that..." Kakashi's eyes locked onto two slender figures edging the western perimeter. "Well, anyway, unless that's an infiltration, it looks like we're beginning now. Two women, I reckon thirty and sixteen. It's not Tenten. They're dressed—" he hesitated. "Well, one's dressed like a civilian."

"Are you sure?"

"Not exactly." Tense, Kakashi waved over a passing servant. "Sai, see those two?" He pointed to the distant women, each a size smaller than a field mouse.

Without needing further instruction the young man nodded and cast an illusionist cloak. His body warped in parts, skin bruising to a deep, decaying blue. Like sludge it oozed from ashen muscle in great, heavy globs. Fibers of meat followed, melting at their edges to flow down collapsed, crushed bones. As if under invisible shale and cap-soil, Sai became a body of oil.

A puddle of himself, he flowed away from the party at ground level to scout his targets unnoticed.

The women approached the medicine house where the older of the two struggled to slide its heavy front door aside. "Don't fall asleep on me Sakura. We actually made it in time for the party," the older remarked in between frustrated grunts. The festival she mentioned was a waterfall of laughter and shouting at its heart. Acres back, it existed as only a dim rumble.

"Shishou, I told you already. I'm not going—" the girl interrupted herself. "Geez, don't break it. This place looks pretty old."

The door opened just enough for them to squeeze through. "What?" the older called from inside. "You're thinking this is just fake decoration?"

"Well, maybe. I don't know. That's how it is in Kyoto with those shoin houses." As the girl dragged herself inside, no attention was given to the soft shadows shielding a boy reconstructed from ink. "Tatami mats too?"

Sai heard a happy laugh. "This estate was created in the Azuchi-Momoyama period. Since their mercenary services were no longer needed once Japan unified its warring states, the Uchiha settled in the northwest. I'll have you know I used to study here. The gasshou-zukuri architecture is a little strange, but it's nice."

"I can barely see a thing," the younger grumbled. Her voice drifted from farther in and Sai sidled against the impacted door, daring to look; the duo's shoes had been abandoned at an entrance pit, their travel packs set beside a large hearth center, and the older woman was working to light a fire. As it caught ablaze, an aureole glow of orange and red laid upon the residents.

Tsunade. He recognized her now. In the fresh light she looked impossibly young, almost foreign, considering the decade passed since her last visit. Only her blonde pigtails always gave her away. Gaze turning, eyes catching upon the girl, Sai's breathing shifted. A silent intake of surprise hovered on his lips.

Pink.

Black, yes, rustic ginger, of course, damsel blonde, his color palette knew every shade. But this? This— this pallid petal, this wash of dyed kimono, this indulgence to his eyes—!

He tore away, his glare cast back into the night. A burn coiled in his retina as they abruptly readjusted to void and darkness. Who had hair like that? Who? And how— how hideous! How... fantastic...

He startled to hear her voice again.

"Chodaigamae?" she asked. Sai quickly glanced around the threshold once more. The eastern wall was a series of four sliding panels, each possessing a vibrant seasonal depiction. She walked its line from spring to winter, admiring complicated strokes. "What's on the other side?"

"Nothing really. The closet. A restroom. You can slide all four aside to double the space in here. You know, in case a patient needs to be treated."

"A patient" she growled "needing to be treated? This is a clinic? Shishou! I'm supposed to be getting a vacation!"

"Oh, that's not all you're getting."

"What's that supposed to mean?! What's that smile for?!"

Outright cackling to herself, Tsunade gave her student's demands no relief. "Don't worry. You'll have your vacation. This is Itachi's favor, after all." She stood from the healthy hearth.

"Where are you going?"

"Speaking of Itachi, I still need to meet with him." Sai tensed. He curled tighter against panel's base as Tsunade approached the front door. "In the meanwhile feel free to go to the party."

With a fierce grunt the door was punched free. Fast thrown open, Sai barely managed to press his exposed arm and knee into the woodwork, half-ink. Tsunade's companion ran after, stopping just shy of the threshold next to him. His hand covered his mouth, blunt nails seizing cheek. The light of the hearth decorated her hair with the shadow of flitting moths, like mystic spirits nesting in kindled flora—

"Shishou!" she hollered. He flinched. Definitely hideous.

Tsunade sighed, conceding. "Fine, fine... forget it. No party. If you want to clean up, there's a bath house to the northeast."

"A bath house? Like... a fancy onsen?"

"Don't stay there too long," Tsunade teased. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Will you be okay, Sakura?"

Her student— Sakura, Sai breathed— the mystical monstrosity, waved away Tsunade's concerns. "I'll be fine. Have fun with Itachi." As her mentor left, she pivoted on heel and true to namesake, floral hair swelled, swayed, and disappeared with her across the threshold back inside. Sai held his breath, feeling like she'd take it with her.

For a moment Sakura meandered, browsing the western wall's chigai-dana, admiring its many antique items. Her earnest but wistful sighs conversed, testing Sai's perimeter distance. His hand hesitated on the wall, ready to stand, ready to— investigate. But she paused for only so long. With sudden vigor she retrieved her forgotten luggage and gracelessly dragged the pack from the hearth's side, intending to set it away.

The fusuma closet wasn't easy to find but remembering Tsunade's brief mention, Sakura rolled the summer chodaigamae aside. The extra room was surprisingly cool, cut from the night's humid cross breeze and hearth's flame. She fumbled along the northern wall until catching the panel wedge that gave away. Tossing her bag within, it landed soundly on the stored guest futons.

It also landed on a white dress.

—

"Oh, it's so good to see you," Tsunade whispered as her arms wound around Jiraiya's neck. Slowly their embrace loosened and almost shyly they drew apart. Tsunade brushed at her eyes where tears wavered.

"My princess." Jiraiya chuckled at the display.

She laughed with him, her bright joy overriding the acute emotional exhaustion she felt seeing her old friend. "No teasing," she warned with a happy grin.

"I wouldn't dare. Come, this way." He kindly indicated to a small enclave of garden trees settled by stone benches. When they entered the private space, Tsunade found herself part of an impromptu meeting. "Itachi, Danzou, you remember Tsunade, yes? Oh, but wait," with a breath of excitement Jiraiya squeezed her hand. "How did your student find the dress?"

Tsunade said nothing, confusion catching the better of her.

"The one from France," he elaborated. "I saw it on a model there. She was something," he gushed with a laugh, but Tsunade's chilling glare soon dried his humor. "Well, um, yes, and anyway, I remembered you had decided to proceed with your girl. Sakura's her name, right? So—" he weakly shrugged. "So I thought to hold onto it. I thought she might like it for the wedding."

Mollified, Tsunade's eyes warmed again. "That's very sweet Jiraiya, but before any marriage we must settle—"

"Settle the issues of engagement," Danzo gruffly interrupted. With a wave of his stiff right arm, the meeting commenced and the gathering sat upon opposing benches. "Sasuke has been informed of the circumstances. Itachi, however, refrained from explaining our additional selections due to absences." He withheld no tone of irritation.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to arrive so late with Sakura."

Itachi raised a hand to cordially halt Tsunade. "Say no more. By absences, Danzo refers to Hatake Kakashi." Kakashi's current, ironic absence went unsaid.

"After hearing the first arrangement, Sasuke was... displeased." Danzo hesitated, evidently remembering something unwelcome. "So we thought it best to let Kakashi handle the rest."

"Of course," roared Jiraiya as he nodded in agreement. "But our little Sakura-chan has arrived now. Let's see if we can track down Kakashi and make him shake things up!"

"Wait."

Jiraiya was halfway to standing when Tsunade's voice split his celebratory cheer. She watched him slowly turn, confused and impatient. The unsettled doubt that wrought her hesitance rolled over her tongue. It was painstaking to pick the words.

"Itachi, Danzo, I must confess something to you."

Danzo leaned back, arms slowly crossing. A long hum of annoyance stretched between himself and Tsunade. Opposite, Itachi's rare smile declined to a sullen expression. He remained silent but curious to her sincerity.

"My student Sakura isn't precisely from a ninja clan."

"So?" asked Jiraiya. Tsunade knew his enthusiasm for Sasuke's engagement depended on little credit to the lady beyond good looks. A smile slid across her lips at their shared romanticized nature, giving her courage to continue.

"What I mean to say is that, though I may be her legal guardian now, she was born to a civilian home. She's always insisted on maintaining her given surname. It means a lot to her... I know she'll refuse to lose it during this trial period."

"So she insults the Uchiha name instead? All candidates relinquish—" Danzo halted at Itachi's raised hand.

"An engagement is still acceptable Tsunade," Itachi, the Uchiha patriarch, reassured. "I'm confident any student of yours is compatible to our desires, no matter her ancestry." Tsunade recognized the gracious pardon by Itachi but her nerves were unresolved. Sensing such, he hedged for more. "What else is there?"

She looked away, unable to directly face his keen analysis. "It's a bit more severe than her heritage," she finally confessed. "I have no kunoichi protege. Only medical."

"Excuse me? Are you trying to say that..." Danzo trailed off, mouth agape.

"Yes. Haruno Sakura isn't a ninja."

—

She felt awful. The gown was an elaborate construction of twists and bodice marred by the dirty slap from her bag. The streak would not smack off, smudge away, and the basin bath merely tangled and tore some of the bigger body drapes. Sakura was trying to wring out the few last drops of water when she heard a terrific rip. In a panic, she unfurled the gown to watch the gentle silk layers seem to dissolve upon themselves. If it belonged to Tsunade as she suspected, she was finished.

"I don't want to die!" she whimpered and chucked the decomposing dress into the restroom's cabinetry, hoping no one would ever find it.

Standing, Sakura caught a reflection of herself. Her hair was strangled and frizzy, her skin blanched, and her eyes rimmed red. Worst yet, sweat settled upon the entirety of her body and cause of a foul stench.

"Ugh, no wonder Tsunade told me to wash up." Patting a bit of color back to her face, she fetched and unsealed her pack to gather bathing supplies, a change of clothes, and a small bag for everything. As she exited the medicine house, she found the night was still startlingly warm and no help at all to her sweaty state.

Bound northeast, she stalked the borderline of light and shadow. At that range she could catch the party's waning lamps and still remain reclusive to public notice. Yet it seemed there was little notice to be had. The distant celebration was significantly quieter than before as attendees retired for the night.

Moving on, Sakura found the bath house by smell as much by sight. From the exterior soft aromas surrounded her, faint little nuances of citrus that exploded into the richest perfume as she entered through the open threshold. The interior revealed an open-house style reception to both male and female occupants and by the entrance, as Tsunade promised, sat wooden buckets and towels. Sakura took one of each and crossed the onsen deck to the pool's edge. Dropping her bag, she shyly discarded her shoes and clothes and hastily began a precursory wash.

Once finished, she tightened her towel and lowered into the hot spring water. The first touch jolted from her toes to the tingling of her ears. Little goosebumps ruptured along her body and she shivered delightfully while lowering herself deeper, her plague of physical exhaustion sharply invigorated by the heat and pungent scents. Soon, even her consciousness was lulled away by the choir of cicadas playing low in her ears. She settled her head back. Long pink hair fanned about the cool stone while she watched with drooping eyes plumes of steam rise unbidden to the sky where stars glowed. No place in the city held such a lovely view.

Her mind dozed though different thoughts, wondering at the mysterious history behind Tsunade's relationship to the Uchiha family, her mentor's bossy attitude, and how long the two might stay at the estate. Lolling her head to the side, she was fully prepared to fall asleep.

Were those snack bowls?

Possessed, Sakura wadded over to the onsen's opposite edge and fell upon them. They hosted baby tangerines, strawberries, sweet loquat and more, but Sakura first descended upon fat, purple grapes. Filled to the brim with juice they just about popped in her mouth.

"Heaven, glorious heaven!" she sang. "Praise Itachi, praise the Gods, for this ethereal bath house!" She tossed and caught a grape in her mouth.

A loud crash had her choking.

Struggling for air, Sakura faced the source of calamity with wide eyes; two men barreled over benches and struck down supplies, treating towels like knives and breaking buckets as if paper. Their laughter and smirks revealed good-natured fooling— but these were grown men.

"Uh, excuse me—"

One man knocked the other against a series of storage racks, sending a hellish clatter of panels across the floor. Without reprieve, Sakura spoke louder. "I'm sorry, but—"

They were at each others' throats, shouting remarks, throwing weight back and forth, discarding clothes— "Uh, hello—" she held her wooden bucket close, double-checking the front of her towel. "Would you two idiots—"

And then one of them, down to his pants, tripped into the spring. With a boyish whoop, his friend cannon-balled right after.

Words lodged in her throat. Her heart hit and smeared down her ribcage. She was naked with two strange men.

Spinning in the cloudy water, shaking, scrambling, an exit eluded her. But she couldn't alert them now— didn't dare the thought. They noisily surfaced and Sakura startled, automatically slipping towards the farthest shadowes. The pool was ddeper there, cooler, and her hands clung tightly to wet stones as she waded. The blessed steam may have retained her the smallest shred of dignity, but it countered any chance to view her company.

Estranged from their position, she resigned herself to eavesdropping. The men settled, subdued from their roughhousing; onsen waters soothed the body as well as the voice, and they murmured lightly amongst themselves.

Sakura palmed her face, bidding time in discomfort. Each passing minute rested heavier. Any interruption now would be far, far too awkward. And still, the bastards hadn't noticed her. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Wedging herself low against the poolside rocks, Sakura grumbled but figured she could patiently wait them out. The foreign conversation was vague but not uninteresting and slips of names or words here and there pierced her recognition. Itachi. Sasuke. Minutes later, another: grapes.

Her eyes widened. One purple treat cheerily bumped her nose. Her stomach groaned in hunger.

The men silenced.

Frantic expletives wired her mind as they charged the pool's center and her body defaulted to self-preservation. With a gasp of breath she pushed herself below the surface, shielding eye-catching hair by tipping her bucket overhead. The steel weight in her gut bore her to the stone floor where she used her feet to anchor herself in time. In the cloudy water she was out of sight. However, she could see nothing of her attackers.

And she couldn't hold her breath forever. By the half-minute mark she was quivering. Doubling that, her chest expanded and collapsed on nothingness, trying to reuse bad oxygen. She bit her lower lip and exhaled as slowly as possibly, regretting each bubble levitating away. Dying for replacement, Sakura pressed her trembling lips to the net of hair caught in the bucket's curve. It allowed for one heavy inhale. Seconds ticked by.

Unable to persist, Sakura broke the water's surface and gorged herself on oxygen.

The men were gone.

She shuddered in the warm spring, scorched with fear. Where— She shook her head. No. She wouldn't wait around to discover.

The bucket clattered to the deck beside her untouched bag, hands clawing for clothes. Old or fresh, it didn't matter as she dressed with dizzy thoughts. She'd go back to the clinic. She'd read a book, something nice. She'd go to bed, like normal. Tonight, what just happened, was her imagination, that awful voice making things up again—

But as she exited the bath a hand grabbed her arm. It forced her to the ground.

"Who are you?!"

The voice was male, one of those she'd heard earlier. She blinked in disbelief, face smushed against dirt.. But silence wasn't the right response and he jerked her arm, twisting it backwards until the joint gave a preemptive pop. She cried out, instantly struggling. In turn the man dropped his weight into a knee against her spine.

"Answer me!" he shouted.

"Aw, c'mon, let up a bit," the other complained. "She's crying too much. I don't think she's a spy."

"I'm not! I'm not a spy," she insisted, words springing from her mouth like water from a fountain statue. "My name is Haruno Sakura, Tsunade's student. I'm here for the part, er, to study, I mean," she cried against as her arm tightened further.

She barely registered a hand grabbing her shoulder and pulling her up, hoisting her back to her feet faster than she could catch.

A broad shouldered, happy blonde grinned at her. His hair was still wet. "Now then. What's your real name?" he kindly asked.

"You" she whispered "jumped in after your friend." He was one of the men. She hadn't imagined it. It'd been real. And it wasn't about some bathing mishap anymore.

"So you were spying," said the blond.

"Told you," growled another, a dark brunet.

"Shut up Sasuke."

Sasuke. That was his name. That's what he was called. The one Tsunade wanted her to meet was him. Yanking from the blond's lax grasp, she turned enough to catch his eyes—

They held no warmth. But there was color in plenty: eggplant, ice of frozen lakes, red carrion. Like gasoline painted with rainbow oil, like the rippling of cat fur, the darkest black toucher her, controlled her. With a mere flicker of attention she felt a clasp upon her lungs, a hupnosis, a strangling within a tide. A blade raised to cut—

The ping of striking swords pierced her focus and she fell backwards, landing in scented grass like a fawn. A stranger bared back Sasuke's chokuto with a blade of his own, their weapons meeting unsteadily in little sharp clicks of metal on metal.

"Sorry. Ugly's under my protection."

"Sai," Sasuke growled.

Sakura's attention snapped to the blond, busy freeing a knife from his left arm. It lossened with a terrific rip of skin and blood and he advanced on her, all intentions clear. "Wait!" she cried.

The shriek of blades preceded Sakura's gasp of surprise. Like teleportation, her savior threw off Sasuke's weight and darted to her side, crouching defensively against the blond. Sakura's hands fluttered over her mouth. She hadn't even seen him move.

"Naruto, hold," ordered Sasuke.

"What? He threw that kunai into—"

"Hold." Sasuke lowered his own blade reluctantly. "Explain yourself, Sai."

"The girl, Haruno Sakura, is a guest of the Uchiha. She's also Tsunade's student."

Naruto crossed his arms in judgment, heedless of the blood dripping down his left, and tapped the stained knife thoughtfully against his cheek. A smear of red graced the action. "I didn't see granny at the party," he sniffed.

"We arrived late," Sakura mouse-squeaked. The men stared; she retaliated by scooting further into the thick grass.

"Ridiculous," Sasuke growled. Tossing his blade into the air, a quick contortion of his right hand dissipated the weapon— Sakura pitched with vertigo at the sight. "Come on," he bade his friend and the two departed.

Her savior waited until they were positively alone before turning to speak. He knelt beside Sakura and extended a hand in aid. "Hello," he began in light affection.

She, for all best first impressions, only stared at her palms. They were stained by dirt and grass and notably shaking. She fixed her eyes upon them, studying, but all she saw were puzzle pieces rotating around her mind.

"Sasuke, he— that sword of his— it's like he summoned it from air. And the way he made it disappear... That's not normal. He's not normal." AN intense shudder gripped her shoulders, shook her, forced her composure to decompose. Her spine warped, lowering her into tall grass. She bent over in sickness.

"Are you okay?" Sai hurriedly attended her side, kneeling bside her.

"—no, no, that's what she did—" A hand fluttered to her mouth. Sakura choked on a burning, dry cry.

"Sakura—" His fingers worked around her wrist, pulling her upright again.

"Shishou" she breathed "didn't bring me here for a vacation. Ninjas. I'm here for her little game—" She looked at Sai. "Oh. You... you're one too, aren't you?"

"What? Of course. Everyone is. Why are you acting like this? Any kunoichi—"

"Me? One of you?" Reality was becoming all too apparent. Sasuke had hurt her and Sakura held no false ideas of her fate if this man hadn't interfered. "You're killers!"

The world drifted vertically and she reckoned she looked like she was going to faint because Sai steadied his hands on her shoulders.

"And? I've only killed a few people." His thin lips unfolded to a long, undecipherable smile. Sakura swallowed. "You look upset... How about we simply go back to the medicine house?"

Giving the smallest of nods, she accepted Sai's help to stand. Slowly, woefully, they walked together towards the barrack. It'd her her prison for one night, she promised herself— only one night.

—


End file.
